


A Quiet Night at Sea

by PeniG



Series: Akashic Records [15]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dunkirk Evacuation, Other, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 01:17:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21189158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeniG/pseuds/PeniG
Summary: When you live on an island, and can't fly, it's best to have boat handy for emergencies. And oh, look, there's an emergency at Dunkirk!





	A Quiet Night at Sea

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really, really not a sailor! If I've committed any errors that are actually painful, please tell me how to fix them.
> 
> Best understood in the context of "Eden," "Adrift," and "Defining Frivolous."
> 
> If you're wondering if that's *the* Nancy and Peggy - that's up to you. Mostly the names were handy, but honestly - we all know both crews were there that night, one way or another. If you don't know what that sentence means, please read Arthur Ransome. You won't regret it.

Aziraphale sat at the tiller, all his senses relaxed at maximum extension. A century and a half of quiet living in London had not cost him the ability to render himself still and ready for anything, when he needed to be. Visibility at sea level was excellent, though a fog could rise the moment one was wanted with hardly any effort. The low overcast sky made the May night almost warm, even out here on the Channel, and one way or another he could see or hear or feel all the other vessels holding steady for the same massive looming fear as he was.

Unlike the other craft afloat tonight, he was under sail, though he had added an engine a few years before. Diesel smell made him seasick, and the throb interfered with his sense of the water, which was unusually calm, by Channel standards, tonight. Miraculously so, some people would say. A steady wind hit his sails just right to keep up with the trailing edge of the not-exactly-fleet. He had a warm jumper on, a flask of tea, and a full pipe. The hull kissed the water perfectly. The seabirds circled and called exactly as they should. The only thing worrying him at all was the desert-spicy aura barely detectable in his wake; but if Crowley wished to be reckless, Aziraphale couldn’t stop him even when they were on speaking terms, which they apparently weren’t.

A few luxuries and the business of being involved in a large-scale human operation aside, it was just like old, old, pre-Arrangement times. He hummed to himself, something he couldn’t quite remember the words to, that they used to sing on the Aral Sea that time he was stuck there for most of a year. About a sea monster and a beautiful girl and a fisherman? The chorus had been jolly catchy - _something something something and the morning finds us home_ -

The air shifted in his grasp and the sea birds scattered moments before he felt the new aura coming in, and then he saw her, vast barred wings against the clouds. His stomach clenched, but he made himself breathe easy. He would have expected her to be busy on the Continent, but she had a perfect right to be here. Her presence probably didn’t have anything to do with him, he assured himself, focusing on a tiller that wasn’t giving him any problems. _She’ll be on her way to one of the actual troop ships_, he thought, as she approached with strong steady beats of her wings. _I’m not doing anything wrong_, he thought, as she stooped.

The boat rocked as she landed on the deck in front of him, face stern and hard. As usual. Her wings folded behind her with a loud rustling sound. “G-good evening, Michael,” said Aziraphale. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“A surprise, anyway,” said Michael. “You know I don’t want a crippled Guardian cluttering up my war zones.”

Aziraphale puffed his pipe to cover up the fact that he was swallowing. Nearly 6000 years, now, and the sound of her voice was enough to dry his mouth up! His wing hadn’t hurt in centuries and in any case was tucked tidily away, but it twinged him nonetheless. “Oh, I hardly count as _crippled_ with a good boat under me,” he said, not thinking it the time to mention that "crippling" didn’t, in any case, describe an injury which didn’t inconvenience him more than once or twice a millennium, on sea _or_ land. “And I’m not here in my capacity as a Guardian. I’m here as a British citizen.”

“As a _what?_”

“Citizen. The government has requisitioned small craft to assist in evacuating the troops at Dunkirk. I own a small craft suitable to the job - seaworthy, but shallow enough draft to get to the beach to pick up men to take to the troop ships. It’s my duty to be here.”

“But you’re _not_ a citizen.”

“I assure you, I am.” He made his face as still and calm and innocent as he knew how. “Would you like some tea?”

“No! Stop being ridiculous and turn this, this cockleshell around!”

“I’m sorry not to oblige you, but unless there’s been a major restructuring about which I have not been informed, I’m not in your chain of command.”

“Then you _don’t_ belong in a military operation.”

“Er. No. No, of course not. But this particular operation, and and modern warfare in general, is, um, a bit of a gray area, isn’t it? Many of the boats out there have been specifically requisitioned and crewed with Navy personnel, but I’m far from the only civilian pressed into service tonight. If you wish to complain to Gabriel, and obtain an order of recall from my superiors in Earthly Affairs, that is your right, and I would have to obey such an order, but in its absence, my duty to King and country outweighs your authority over me.”

“You don’t owe any duty to any king or any country!”

“Certainly I do! I’ve been Guardian-in-residence for the British Isles continuously since the late 18th century. I own property. I run a business. I pay taxes and benefit from public services. I vote. I, ah, have a birth certificate at Somerset House, should anyone care to look for it.” He gave her his most conciliatory smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t be called for actual military service. Medical exemption. Dodgy ticker.”

Michael looked like she wanted to hit something; possibly his conciliatory smile. Instead she folded her arms. “Heavenly policy specifically forbids taking sides in human conflicts.”

“So it does. But my charges remain my charges, even in wartime. I have any number of people under my specific protection on the Channel tonight. It’s far from the first time my jurisdiction’s overlapped with the Host’s in this body of water. So, though I'm not specifically here as a Guardian, the overlap of duties really seems, seems to me, to demand that I be on hand. I will not, of course, be raising a hand against anyone. No fighting. Not even self-defense!”

“Don’t expect any help from the Host if you get caught in a battle situation, then! We can’t be responsible for you.”

“Certainly not! I would never ask you to be. And don’t worry - should anything happen to me, my crew is perfectly capable of finishing the job without interfering with your operations.”

“You have crew?” She sounded dangerous; not that she had filled him with a sense of peace or safety before. “You’ve put yourself in a _command position?_”

“By no means! Not in any sense that need concern you. Only, I own the boat and am _de facto_ the one in charge, by convention, due to the practical demands of sailing. They’re asleep below right now - I told them they’d better do it while they have the chance. Nancy and Peggy are excellent sailors, and in fact much better able to manage the engine, once we need it, than I am. They’d be on a warship this minute, except that the Navy doesn’t accept women in combat positions.” He found he was gesturing too much with the pipe, and the other hand twitched on the tiller. “If you were to examine the wards and blessings, I believe you’d find that both the crew and the boat are perfectly safe from any contingency likely to arise. Though it’s possible your superior experience could suggest improvements. If you see any way to enhance my arrangements, I would be grateful for advice, though I don’t wish to impose on you for it.”

Michael shook her head and made a disgusted sound. “And if Gabriel recalls you? What will you say to your _crew_ about turning tail and sailing home?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I presume if Gabriel wants to recall me, he’ll send a ladder down. Heaven can hardly ask Nancy and Peggy to turn aside from _their_ duty if _mine_ calls me elsewhere.”

Abruptly, the Commander of the Host of Heaven turned on her heel, her folded wings barely clearing the roof of the cabin, and paced up the port side to the bow, then returned aft down the starboard side, pausing once to examine the mast, and once to examine the cabin. Aziraphale minded the tiller, and drank some tea, and blew a smoke ring. “It’s certainly warded six ways from Sunday,” she said. “If you have information that leads you to think Dagon intends to interfere, you had better relay it.”

“If I had any, I would already have done so. Dagon is particularly addressed in the wards because water is her element, that’s all.”

Michael rubbed her head, as if it ached. “I do not have time for this nonsense.”

“Indeed, sir, I’m touched that you came out of your way to check on me, but I assure you, all’s well here. Pray do not neglect your duties on my account!”

“I don’t,” she snapped; hopped onto the railing, and took off, flying toward the massed terror and despair at Dunkirk.

“Lovely to see you, too,” muttered Aziraphale, adjusting his heading.

“Skipper?” Nancy, seamanlike in trousers and a jersey, came halfway up the hatch from the cabin. “Who’re you talking to?”

“I hardly think I rate as a skipper, my dear,” said Aziraphale.

She came on deck. “It’s your boat, you’re the skipper. I can hardly say ‘Aye, Mr. Fell,’ can I?”

“I don’t see why not. What are you doing up?”

“I heard you talking to someone, and thought we must’ve arrived.” She looked out over the water, appearing to count the riding lights bobbing at intervals in the gloom. “I thought I heard a woman, though. I must have been dreaming. But I’m awake now. Shouldn’t you get some sleep, too? I promise I’m good for steering at night.”

“I’m sure you are, but I’m much too old to sleep, myself, and I want you fresh when we get to the beach. That’s where we’ll need the young and spry and sharp-eyed, with reflexes at full capacity. You’re the stuff of heroes. Leave the boring parts to me, and prepare to grab the glory when the time comes.”

“If you fall asleep in the middle of the glory, who’m I to take orders from?”

“In the event of my incapacity, you’ll step up and make an excellent skipper. I wouldn’t have brought you, if I weren’t confident of that.”

“Mm. But will the men we’re picking up think so?” Her brows drew together, her short hair fluttering around her face; but she stood, braced casually against the boat’s movements, erect and square-shouldered, much as Michael had stood in the same space, but with a reassuring rather than a threatening effect.

“They won’t have time to think anything else.” Aziraphale put a blessing into the words, though he suspected she didn’t need it. “Listen, my dear. The men we’re helping will be scared, and desperate, and you’re right, if they see a slip of a girl, they will not trust her. So when they see you, they must see someone they would be wise to obey. Do not give them time to think of you as a girl. Do not ask them for anything - I might get away with that, but you can’t. Give them orders and assume that they’ll follow them. Anyone who doesn’t, you’ll have a belaying pin. It’ll serve him right and remind the others that the point here is get off the beach before the Germans strafe it.”

Nancy was smiling broadly by the end of this speech. “I can do all that. I’m not sure Peggy can.”

“Oh, I expect you’d both be surprised at what Peggy can do if she needs to, but she shouldn’t need to. We’ll have her on the tiller when things go to blazes.”

“Yes, she’ll be good at that.” Nancy came to lean on the afterrail, watching their wake spread out behind them. “Thank you for letting us come.”

“Thank you for crewing me! It would have been all kinds of irresponsible for me to be out here on my own.”

“Oh, you could’ve picked up a dozen boys for this.”

“But I don’t need boys. I need sailors. Who will be awake when I need them!”

“I’ll go back below in a minute. I just want some air that doesn’t smell like lavender. Peggy thinks you must be a lavender smuggler.”

Aziraphale was glad it was too dark for her to see him blush. “I suppose it is a bit much if you’re not used to it. Not fond of bilge smell, is all.”

A faint buzz in the air, and they were both very still as a plane went by, somewhere far above the cloud cover.

“_Hail and farewell, all you fair Spanish ladies,_” Nancy sang when it had passed. “_Hail and farewell, all you ladies of_ \- oh!”

“What’s the matter?”

She shook her head, blinking. “Nothing. I thought I saw the sea serpent trailing us, but of course it’s only waves.”

“That sounds as if you’re more tired than you think. Below with you.”

“Aye, Mr. Fell, I’m going!”

Aziraphale waited till the hatch closed behind her to take his eyes off the compass card and glance behind. With his senses in their present state, the Serpent shadowing them was in no way obscured by darkness or by waves. He raised his hand in greeting. When no response came, he put his eyes back where they belonged, alternating between the compass and the horizon, and began to sing in an ancient Mesopotamian language only two beings on earth remembered, not forgetting to include the zither.

_“The goat went up the hillside, the goat went up the hillside, the goat went up the hillside, and what do you think he saw?”_

-30-


End file.
